A Matter of Security
by lynne-monstr
Summary: What started out as a knife fight turns into more, and Prussia rediscovers that there's a difference between defeat and giving in to what he wants. Switzerland is happy to oblige but there's an ulterior reason he sought Prussia out. Prussia/Switzerland. Warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

_Note: There's a couple references to the Cleaning Prussia game. They're not necessary for the story, but I'd recommend you check it if you haven't already, because it's great!_

_**Contains**: knife play, blood play, some violence_

* * *

Prussia hummed in contentment as he tightened the last tiny screw into place. Straightening up from his hunched over position, he rolled his shoulders back, twisting at the waist to work out the stiffness in his muscles. It was no wonder his body was protesting; he'd been at this all day, an array of rags, tools, and cleaning oils spread around him in a loose semicircle where he sat cross-legged on the floor of the garage.

It wasn't the most welcoming part of the house—the various toolboxes, workbenches, and walls of shelving not enough to get rid of the starkness of concrete walls and floor—but Prussia found the clean lines and cavernous space comforting, and he wasn't ready to break from it yet.

Picking up the knife he'd just put back together, Prussia examined it with a critical eye, a wide smile stealing across his face. There was nothing as satisfying as a newly cleaned weapon.

Nothing except for using it, he corrected ruefully.

Something in his chest tightened at that, the smile freezing on his face until it was more of a grimace. He shook his head briskly as if to physically send the thought flying. His days of fighting and conquest were long over and wishing they weren't was a mental path he didn't want to walk right now. Not when he was having such a good day.

And it _was_ a good day. Just him and his favorite weapons, and sometimes that was all a guy needed.

Prussia focused on the knife in his hand. It was a favorite for carrying in public – a midsize folding blade with a matte black finish— and he was paying careful attention to ensure all the moving parts were in top working order. Adjusting his grip to get a solid hold, Prussia flicked the blade open with his thumb, opening and closing it several times at varying speeds to test the movement. It was perfectly smooth now that the buildup of dirt and dust had been removed, each individual part cleaned and oiled to his exacting standards.

Good as new. No, better than new.

A knock at the door leading into the house almost made him jump.

"It's open!" he called, not pausing in his examination of the knife.

The weapon felt good in his hand. Solid and comfortable and a part of him, the way all his weapons did ever since he could remember. Carefully, he ran his thumb along the sharpened blade, relishing the thrill that swept through him at the action, the way his breath hitched and his heart sped up. That too, had always been with him.

Footsteps echoed from near the door, and he wondered what West was doing back so soon. His brother was supposed to be gone all day, celebrating some kind of private fifty year anniversary with France, now that the publicity part had died down. Prussia thought it was cute that his little brother was getting along so well with one of his closest friends. Well, mostly cute. The rest of him wanted to go out and shoot something so he wouldn't have to think about how bitterly it stung not to be a part of stuff like that anymore. With effort, he pushed it away (today was a good day) and hoped nothing had gone wrong between the two of them.

A voice rang out from the doorway, just beyond his line of sight. "High quality steel with a thumb hole opener. Compression locking mechanism – very strong. Not bad for a folding knife."

That wasn't West.

In less than a second Prussia had his feet under him in a crouch, head whipping around and knife raised before he realized he recognized that voice.

"Switzerland." His eyes confirmed it, and his hand dropped to his side as he stood. "What are you doing here? West isn't home."

Switzerland's hand halted on its way to his own hip, no doubt for whatever mini-arsenal he was carrying at the moment, but stopped when Prussia's knife snapped closed with a muffled click. "I'm not here for your brother," he answered, giving a barely there smile that Prussia would have called shy on anyone else; on Switzerland, he wasn't sure what to call it.

Prussia frowned, but Switzerland's clothes seemed to back up his words. The loose jeans and navy blue t-shirt didn't exactly scream business meeting. But it still didn't answer his question. Prussia raised an eyebrow and debated bringing the knife back up, unsure what was going on here and not liking the feeling one fucking bit. Before he could decide either way, or form a question more intelligent that _'What?' _or _'Huh?' _Switzerland's voice broke him out of his thoughts.

"What were you doing on the floor?" Switzerland scowled in obvious disapproval, eyes darting back and forth between where Prussia had been sitting and the high table and stool directly behind him that was his usual work area.

Prussia shrugged a shoulder. "Wanted a change of scenery."

It was true. After he'd finished cleaning his entire collection of guns, he'd thought the floor sounded like a nice change. Unfortunately, it wasn't near as comfortable as it looked and he wasn't planning to stay down there for much longer, though he kept that bit of information to himself.

"You're very strange," was the reply, though the corners of his mouth twitched as if he was trying to fight a smile.

Abruptly, Switzerland changed topics. "You should do something about your security," he continued, flashing a disapproving frown at Prussia. It made his eyebrows scrunch together and the teeny-tiny part of Prussia not bristling at the implied insult thought it made him look kind of cute. "I just walked right in here. I could have attacked you and you'd be defenseless. I expected better from you and Germany."

A harsh staccato laughter bubbled up in Prussia's throat and he did nothing to stop it. He brought the knife up and flicked it open in the same smooth motion, angling it so the black finish caught the light in a deliberate message. "Defenseless? Then you don't know me at all," he volleyed back, voice pitched low. Laugh melting into a sneer, he added, "I'd like to see you try."

Switzerland didn't rise to the bait, though his fingers twitched at his sides. "Neutral, remember." His expression was stone, and it made Prussia want to hit him, to see if there was anything underneath.

The thought made him smile, sharp and wide. "No need for politics. Just a friendly fight. Don't you get tired of sitting back and watching everyone else have all the fun?"

The unflappable expression didn't falter. "Are you talking about me or you now?"

Prussia froze, assessing Switzerland with a new level of respect. He didn't know the other nation all that well, hadn't been expecting something so pointed and (as much as he hated to admit it) accurate. But he supposed maybe sitting back and watching had its advantages after all. Not that it mattered, he wasn't about to be talked down to in his own house.

Throwing a grin across the open space, Prussia took a step forward. "Are words all you've got? Or are you scared to fight me for real?" he taunted.

"Scared? Of you? Don't be absurd." Switzerland made it sound like an insult. "That's not why I'm here though." He scuffed a foot against the bare floor, the thumbs of both hands hooking into the front pockets of his jeans, suddenly seeming embarrassed about something.

Prussia barely noticed. How dare that Swiss asshole invade his home, call his security substandard, and insult his retired status. He fucking unified Germany, raised his brother into a strong world power, and he deserved some god damned respect. "You should be," he spit out through clenched teeth.

It was a bad idea, a stupid idea, but Switzerland's words brought back all the shitty things Prussia was trying not to think about today, so he stopped thinking and just _reacted_, springing forward from his back foot and crossing the space between them in an instant, knife outstretched. He had no intention of doing any damage (he knew better than to cause an international incident and fuck anyone who said otherwise), he only wanted to send a message, catch that smug bastard off guard and wipe the condescending expression off his face, so even as he landed he was pulling the strike.

Just as quickly, Switzerland jumped back, dodging the already slowing knife and buying time to draw his own. Sneaking past Prussia's defenses, he struck out in retaliation, sharp edge coming uncomfortably close to undefended skin.

Prussia twisted, avoiding the blade and lashing out with his other hand, fist flying at the long column of Switzerland's throat. Just as quickly, his hand was blocked, leaving them face to face.

"Fuck you. You don't know anything about me," Prussia said, lips curling in a snarl.

Switzerland made a huffing noise, chin raised to stare him in the eyes. "I know enough. I know you don't think before you act."

Whether that was meant to be mocking or a statement of fact, Prussia had no fucking clue, but the silver glint of steel at the edge of his vision rearranged his priorities. It was his turn to jump back as Switzerland's knife passed by too close for comfort. "Planning only takes you so far," he countered, catching his breath once he landed.

Not waiting for a response, he feinted to the left before throwing himself in the opposite direction and sweeping his knife across in a tight arc aimed at Switzerland's stomach.

Switzerland wasn't fooled and easily skirted the attack. "I know you're loud and you think too much of yourself."

Prussia grinned fiercely, pivoting so they were face to face again. "Aw, I'm blushing. But yeah, I call that confidence. You should try it sometime."

"My history speaks for itself," Switzerland responded curtly, eyes narrowed in concentration.

In the blink of an eye, Switzerland lunged, knife arm flying forward. Running on instinct, Prussia sidestepped to the left and caught him by the wrist, using their momentum to twist, come up behind him, and wrench Switzerland's knife arm behind his back until he was forced to bend forward. The blade neutralized, Prussia followed up with an elbow to his unprotected kidney. Switzerland grunted, but didn't hit the floor as hoped, instead retaliating by slamming the heel of his sneaker onto Prussia's shoeless toes.

Agony roared up from the impact and Prussia let out a cry that was entirely too high pitched for his liking, but managed to get his knee up into Switzerland's stomach before that cheating asshole took advantage of the distraction to twist free.

They went back of forth across the garage –Prussia careful to keep them away from West's car on one side and his own workbench on the other—alternatively giving ground and attacking as they danced across the space. Switzerland handled the weapon like he was born with it in his hand. Which may not have been too far off, Prussia reflected, recognizing the easily familiarity from the way he himself fought.

Somewhere along the line, the anger and defensiveness he started out with drained away and Prussia realized he was having fun. The rest of those sissy fucks liked to talk out their differences these days, and it had been decades since he'd been in a decent fight with another nation.

Dodging a swipe from Switzerland's knife, Prussia regrouped and darted in with a low slash that was only deflected at the last second.

"You're a good fighter," Switzerland remarked between heavy breaths, chest heaving with exertion. Something flashed behind that indifferent façade, unexpectedly serious, before being buried just as quickly.

The praise caught Prussia by surprise, but not enough to miss the kick aimed at his front shin. He scuttled backwards, wanting to say something in kind (because it was true) but not wanting it to sound stupid or fake.

He caught a barely there quirk of Switzerland's lips and was startled to realize that the other was enjoying this every bit as much as Prussia was. "Not bad, yourself" he threw out, as they circled each other warily, looking for the next opening.

"Doesn't change the fact you talk too much." Switzerland barely spared him a glance as he said it, but Prussia wasn't fooled; he'd already caught a glimpse of what was under the irritable outer shell, and was determined to find it again.

"Says the guy doing all the talking," he replied with a wink, and lunged.

There was no response as Switzerland's knife darted out to parry the blow, following up with a well-aimed punch with his other hand. Prussia ducked and weaved, catching a lucky break as he popped up along Switzerland's undefended side, the other nation having miscalculated which direction Prussia was moving in.

Knife already in motion, Prussia barely had time to pull the swipe before it landed, scoring a shallow slash along Switzerland's right arm above the elbow. He paused, not knowing if he was expected to halt after first blood.

Switzerland rolled his shoulders and flexed his arm, lips pressed tightly together. He must have been satisfied with the results, because he nodded to himself and brought the knife back up in a defensive stance. "What?" he asked, frowning. "You think this is enough to make me want to stop?"

Prussia's own grin came back, wider than before, entire body feeling alive with the thrill of the fight. "Fuck no!" he replied, knife settling back into a defensive position.

Not giving him time to act, Switzerland threw himself forward, attacking in a flurry that even Prussia had trouble following. The whirlwind of motion didn't stop and before he knew it, Prussia was pressed up against the wall, disarmed, with Switzerland's knife against his throat and his other hand pinning Prussia's wrist.

He didn't dare to move, breath coming in shallow pants as he tried to stay as still as possible. The steel at his neck was cold and steady, and he could feel Switzerland's heartbeat pounding against his chest where they pressed together. A glint of red caught his eye; the cut from earlier. He licked his lips at the sight, and the widening of eyes opposite him indicated that the reaction didn't go unnoticed.

Mind racing, Prussia ran through his options. Switzerland was looking up at him like he'd won some kind of god damned prize, and that made him seethe. This wasn't over yet. Not even fucking close. He held back a sharp grin and prepared to move.

Before he could, the knife bit further into his neck and everything came crashing to a halt. Prussia froze, struggling to focus as the increased pressure lit up his body like a live wire, sending echoing twinges racing downwards to build low in his stomach. Shit, now was _not_ the time for that. Not here, not now, and especially not with someone he barely knew. But at the same time, he became aware of a distinct hardness pressing against the front of his leg, and reconsidered. It was risky – that reaction was pretty normal in a good fight—but Prussia decided _to hell with it_, and fervently hoped he wasn't misreading the situation.

He locked his gaze back on to Switzerland's and didn't look away. The moment stretched, neither of them willing to be the first to speak or break contact. Just as the stillness became unbearable, Prussia slowly darted his tongue out to run along his lower lip.

Darkened eyes flicked downwards to follow the motion.

Almost immediately, Switzerland snapped his gaze back up, a faint blush rising on his cheeks as if only just realizing the slip and embarrassed at being caught out. A deep crease appeared between his brows, and the knife wavered.

Before Prussia could lose his nerve or decide what a shitty idea this was –except it wasn't shitty, his mind cut in; he'd keep the knife in sight so he couldn't be taken by surprise, so it was fine, and besides, it had been too fucking long since he'd done this—he tilted his head up. Not by much, just enough to get his point across.

The knife shifted against him as he moved, and it was all Prussia could do to bite back the groan that threatened to escape at the light scraping of sharpened steel against skin.

Switzerland eyed him intently, composure firmly back in place. "What are you planning? Don't think I can't tell you're up to something."

At that Prussia did let out a groan. An exasperated one. Was this guy for real? If Prussia's head wasn't already shoved up against the wall, he'd slam it against it in frustration. "Jesus fuck, are you always this dense?" Shoving Switzerland's knife arm away with his free hand, he took advantage of the surprise to yank his captured wrist free. Shit, he needed a cold shower and a beer.

Understanding flared behind Switzerland's eyes like a switch being flicked, and he flung Prussia back against the wall, his tight lipped expression taking on a distinctly feral edge as he brought the knife back up to rest just under Prussia's jaw.

Prussia stifled a sharp inhale at the shock of cold pressing against the underside of his chin, torn between the urge to close his eyes, or to keep aware and alert in what was still an unpredictable situation. Centuries of instinct won and he kept his gaze trained ahead.

"I see." A warm mouth was pressed to his ear, and a rough voice whispered, "Tell me you want this."

Again, Prussia tilted his head up in a silent answer. If that damned isolationist fuck didn't get the hint this time, Prussia was going to knock him on his ass.

A hand fisted in his hair, sending flares shooting through his scalp, and suddenly Prussia found himself staring at the ceiling as his head was violently wrenched back. A powerful thigh pressed itself between his legs, spreading them further apart as Switzerland's entire body pressed up against him.

"Not good enough," Switzerland said, voice pitched low. "Say it."

Prussia bristled, but nodded anyway, a short, brisk jerk of his head that pulled painfully at his hair. His eyes worked to focus downwards, determined not to look away as he spoke. "Yeah, I want it. Happy? Now fucking get on with it."

"Add impatient to the list." Despite the mocking words, Switzerland pressed the weapon harder against his throat, rough pressure that blossomed into a sharp prick of pain.

With a muffled grunt Prussia ground himself down on the jean clad leg pressed between his own, savoring the rush of relief it brought. The sting at his neck flared sharper and brighter, bringing him back to awareness, and he realized he must have pressed himself into the knife in his need to get closer.

"At least I'm not all talk and no action, unlike someone here," Prussia replied, ignoring the pain in his scalp and in his neck to pull harder against the hand fisted in his hair, until he could squarely meet Switzerland's eyes, his lips twisting into a wild grin.

Switzerland merely looked up at him, cold and assessing, though the quick fluttering of his breath and the way his pupils were blown wide ruined the effect somewhat.

Prussia bared his teeth wider, but made no other moves, curious to see where this was going and content to play along now that he was convinced it _was_ going somewhere. Vaguely, he was aware of something tickling lightly against his neck and he realized it was blood, trickling down from the cut on his throat.

"Stop talking," Switzerland reprimanded, the gruffness in his voice not enough to hide his own eagerness. Prussia suppressed a laugh (because who knew that under the bitchy surface and the closely guarded privacy was _this_) knowing better than to voice it right now.

Green eyes left Prussia's face to follow the thin line of blood making its way down his throat to pool in the hollow above his collarbone. They flicked back up, intense and wild and untamed, and suddenly Prussia wanted it all.

Everything. The knife, the pain, the nation across from him holding him down as he cut deeper.

Switzerland must have felt it too because suddenly the hand in his hair tightened, dragging him down until they were at eye level. "If we do this, I'm not going to stop until I make you scream," Switzerland whispered into his face.

It took everything Prussia had not to snarl at him to get on with it already. He reigned himself in, refusing to look away, and answered, "You gonna talk at me all day or what?"

The corner of Switzerland's mouth curled up at that, and he released Prussia's hair to trail a hand downwards, over his temple and his jaw and his neck until he reached the top of Prussia's worn shirt, deftly flicking open each button. The knife wasn't far behind, trailing a long, slow line down his sternum as more and more skin was exposed, teasing and playing and leaving it frustratingly whole and unmarked.

Another button was opened and the knife followed, drawing an invisible line along his torso towards his stomach, and Prussia strained to keep each inhale and exhale of breath perfectly steady. A frustrated groan caught in his throat, almost undoing his efforts as the blade, warm with the heat leached from his body, skimmed his navel to follow the fine trail of colorless hair that disappeared below the waistband of his jeans.

Face never losing its intense look of concentration, Switzerland flicked aside the open edges of the shirt with the tip of the knife, and Prussia allowed himself to breath normally again. He shrugged his shoulders back and let the unbuttoned shirt slide down his arms and onto the floor.

Then he sprung, knocking the knife aside with one hand as he slid his left leg outwards, catching Switzerland's foot and knocking him off balance. Because if Switzerland wasn't going to get to the good part fast enough, then Prussia would.

They fell to the floor, knife skittering away out of reach. Prussia straddled the body beneath him, catching both sturdy wrists in his hands and leaning forward to pin them above his adversary's head.

Switzerland bucked and snarled, even as his eyes blazed with excitement. Not wasting any time, he whipped his head forward in a brutal attack aimed straight at Prussia's nose.

Prussia easily dodged to one side, slamming both captured wrists back to the concrete floor. There was blood spattered on Switzerland's face and it took Prussia a long moment to realize it was the same blood that had just been dripping down his own neck. It was a beautiful sight, and he leaned down to lick a long stripe up Switzerland's cheek, savoring the tang of iron on his tongue.

As his actions, Switzerland stilled beneath him, struggles melting into small grunts of appreciation. Collecting himself, he blinked up at Prussia. "This isn't what I expected when I came by," he muttered through clenched teeth, eyes straining to focus at their close proximity.

Prussia grinned. "That's 'cause you're boring. You should learn to loosen up," he replied, smiling at the mental picture that brought to mind, especially considering the hardness pressing up near his ass, demanding attention. Still smirking, he ground down against it, and knew he hit the right spot when the expression beneath him went slack, Switzerland's chest heaving as his breath came a hell of a lot faster.

The knife was too far away to reach without loosening his hold, so instead Prussia leaned down and claimed Switzerland's mouth, tongue pushing past parted lips to lick along the roof of his mouth, behind his teeth, anywhere he could reach. An answering tongue pressed back against him, demanding and insistent; Switzerland was a stubborn bastard, but so was Prussia and so he broke the kiss to catch a swollen lower lip between his teeth, biting down until the taste of copper flooded his mouth.

The action drew a gasp and a jerk of the hips from below. "I'm not boring." The words were heaved out the moment Prussia's teeth let go, as Switzerland struggled to catch his breath, sucking on his wounded lip.

Taking in the view below him—Switzerland pinned to the ground under Prussia's hips and hands, drops of blood still spattered across his face and mixing with the trickle of red trailing from his mouth—Prussia had to agree.

Before he had time to fully appreciate the sight, a leg hooked around one of his own and pulled, flipping their positions. Prussia's head hit the concrete with a crack. The room swam and he was vaguely aware of being flipped over onto his stomach. The coldness of the floor against his bare chest jolted him back to alertness, and he spared a thought to be thankful he kept his work area so meticulously clean. Pushing his arms flat against the ground, he went to lever himself up.

And stopped.

Something sharp and pointed was pressed against his back, sending a surge of adrenaline racing through his limbs, sharpening his senses until he could feel the pressure of the knife increase at each inhaled breath and pounding of his heart. Not far behind was a rising heat that had nothing to do with his instinct to fight.

A hand curled around the back of his neck and shoved him to the floor.

"Stay down." Switzerland spoke right into his ear from where he was crouched beside him.

All of his defensive instincts prickled at the vulnerable position even as his body responded with a wave of heat that sent his mind reeling. Prussia loathed defeat, fucking hated it with everything he had, but he was old enough to know that giving in wasn't defeat when it was something he chose. And so he shoved down the urge to fight back, stayed unmoving and didn't protest as Switzerland grabbed each of his wrists in turn and guided them down to his sides. Something stirred deep inside him as he let it happen, a thrill and uncertainty he hadn't felt in decades and hadn't realized he missed.

He let his forehead rest against the floor and closed his eyes. This was either going to be fucking amazing or one of his dumbest ideas ever, and right now Prussia couldn't care less which one he was heading towards.


	2. Chapter 2

The knife was cold against the base of his neck, and though Prussia refused to shiver, he couldn't stop the tiny bumps that rose along his arms and down the small of his back. The chilled edge moved downwards, scraping along the line of his shoulder blade until without warning it turned into the sharp sting of a cut. Prussia let out a hiss that was more surprise than pain, body tensing as he fought not to move.

He was surprised when a hand stroked soothingly down his skin, starting between his shoulders and sweeping down the curve of his back, fingers dipping under the waistband of his jeans to press against the vertebrae at the very base of his spine. It was an unnecessary gesture, but the way the lingering pain mixed with the gentle touch felt nice and Prussia let himself sink into it, the muscles of his chest and arms relaxing.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then the knife was back, and this time Prussia was ready and didn't make a sound as the blade dug into his skin, carving another line under the first. The pain pulsed in time with his heartbeat.

Switzerland made a noise somewhere between intrigue and satisfaction, and it crossed Prussia's mind to wonder who else knew that the other nation's fondness for weapons didn't stop at border defense. The stray thought was chased away when a line of fire scored across the opposite side of his back, deeper than before and hard enough to make him bite back a sharp breath.

"More." Prussia's voice was tight, strained with growing arousal and the effort of holding himself still. It had been so long since he'd done this, not since the humans who'd loved him and were loyal to him because they were his and a part of him. When they would carve their devotion into his skin with the same weapons they used on his enemies.

Pain flared again on his back, piercing through the memories, followed by a series of short, burning lines down his flank. Before he could catch his breath, the knife curved, crossing his spine to zigzag in the space between his ribs. The sharp sting seeped into every part of him, casting a haze over his mind and dulling his thoughts, and he couldn't stop the low moan that broke past his lips.

The blade froze against his skin, sharp point hovering tantalizingly against the small of his back.

"Enough?" Switzerland asked, the rough tones not enough to mask the hint of concern hiding beneath.

Careful not to move below the neck, Prussia turned his head so his cheek was resting against the cold floor, relishing the contrast to the blaze radiating off his back and the warmth coiling further below. He gathered up the tattered shreds of his thoughts and spoke, a mocking, "Thought you were gonna make me scream," that didn't come out nearly as scathing as he'd intended, voice raspy with need.

There was no reply, but the knife struck again and Prussia had to strain not to cry out, though whether in pleasure or pain even he couldn't say. It didn't stop, and each new touch of sharpened steel burned against his skin one after the other, adding to the heat building heavy between his legs. He could smell the tang of blood in the air, taste the echo of it on his tongue. It made his head spin, world narrowing to a fine point.

Through it all, Switzerland's hand never wavered and despite the fog of arousal and the relentless buzz of pain, Prussia had to admire his skill with a blade.

It continued relentlessly, the sharp lines blurring together and leaving him needing more. As each cut split his skin and stripped his self-control it became harder and harder to keep from rutting against the ground to relieve the ache consuming his body. Only the knowledge that he had to keep absolutely still kept the last shreds of his willpower in place, kept his hips from seeking the friction and relief he desperately needed.

The knife veered deep into his side, and Prussia let out a loud gasp, unable to keep from arching away at the unexpected intensity. Warmth blossomed from the wound, and he breathed heavily as it passed, eyes clenched tightly shut against the agony and arousal washing over him in waves.

A terse, "Sorry," broke through the haze.

"It's fine," Prussia mumbled. The initial piercing sting was dying, leaving only a pleasant humming against his skin that made the other too-shallow cuts fade into the background. "You can go that deep again," he added, voice coming out gravelly and rough.

But instead of the knife, Prussia felt hands circle his waist, sliding against his skin to fumble with the front of his jeans. He lifted his hips to give better access, fighting against the need to push himself into Switzerland's hands as they worked his pants open. A groan built in his throat as his jeans and boxers were tugged down, fabric brushing over sensitive flesh and fingernails scraping harsh lines into his legs. Prussia bit his lip to stifle the sound. The clothes bunched around his ankles and he moved to kick them away and free his legs, but a hand on the skin of his calf stopped him.

"No. Keep it like that."

"You kinky fuck," Prussia replied. But he let his legs go still.

"You're one to talk," Switzerland shot back, trailing the tip of the knife lightly along Prussia's calf for emphasis.

Prussia made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a rasp, and from the corner of his eye saw Switzerland's t-shirt drop to floor.

A weight settled on his thighs and then the knife was back, tip resting solidly against the cleft of his ass. The blade slowly made its way downwards and Prussia's breath caught, going completely still as adrenaline surged through him and pushed the fuzziness away in a burst of alertness. His body thrummed wildly, like a drum pulled too tight, the need to keep calm and not move warring with the renewed instinct to get the fuck away and defend himself.

This was _not_ part of the plan. What the fuck was that crazy Swiss bastard doing? That was a delicate fucking area!

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Prussia demanded.

There was no response, but Switzerland had already proven his steady hand, and so against his better judgment Prussia let him trace the blade along the seam of his most private of areas. There was enough pressure that he could feel the metal nestled against his skin, but not enough to cut. It felt fucking amazing, and Prussia used every bit of control he still possessed to hold himself in place, suddenly glad for the weight of Switzerland's body restraining his legs.

After what seemed like forever, the blade hovered between his thighs before withdrawing completely, and Prussia allowed himself a heavy breath.

The weight on his legs let up and then there was nothing.

Prussia's patience sucked at the best of times (except when he was planning war strategies) and it didn't take long to wear thin now. He didn't know where the knife was, but this sitting still and waiting shit wasn't his style. He propped himself up on his elbows and glanced behind him.

Switzerland was sitting nearby, eyeing him with a curious expression. One hand repeatedly opened and closed the knife, the other hovered over Prussia's skin uncertainly, as if he wasn't sure his permission to touch extended beyond the cold bite of metal.

Prussia didn't know what to think about that so he didn't, swallowing the discomfort in his throat to flash a cocky smile and a wink over his shoulder. "I know the view is good from up there, but come on, I don't have all day."

To prove the point, he wiggled his ass, and was rewarded with a scoff. But that strange look was gone from Switzerland's face and he was smiling that little half smile that Prussia was beginning to think was the closest he got to a real one, so he counted it as a win.

"Don't be absurd," Switzerland countered. "The view's not that impressive and you clearly _do_ have all day."

That was bullshit. If there was one thing Prussia knew, it was that he had a great ass. But all the shifting around was making it hard to concentrate, so he ignored the slight against his assets and set his mind to more important stuff. Like getting Switzerland's stupid pants off. Because fuck if Prussia was going to be the only one naked here.

The cuts on his back pulled and throbbed as he twisted around, threatening to steal his concentration all over again, but he marshaled his strength and he pushed the sensation back so he could get to work, popping the top button and yanking the zipper all the way down. Switzerland got the hint pretty quickly, pushing to his knees to shove the unwanted clothing down over his hips to pool on the floor, eyes sweeping over Prussia's body as he did so.

With the clothes out of the way, it was plain to see that Switzerland was as ready to go as he was, and Prussia grinned. Shaking off his own jeans from where they still tangled around his legs, he laid them on the floor to use as an impromptu cushion (a pretty crappy one, but better than nothing). Mirroring the kneeling position, Prussia took them both in hand, nearly slumping at the rush of relief it brought.

Switzerland jerked against him, biting his lip and reopening the wound from earlier, knife hand reaching out to steady himself against the unmarked top of Prussia's shoulder.

At the glint of the blade, Prussia froze, carefully watching the knife out of the corner of his eye. The rest of his attention was on the tiny droplet of red welling up against the pale pink of Switzerland's lip. With effort, he drew his focus back to the weapon.

"Put that shit down before someone gets hurt." Prussia may not have been a model of self-restraint and caution, but he knew a bad idea when he saw one.

Apparently, so did Switzerland. He set the knife aside without protest, the edge of his mouth turning up in a way that looked slightly embarrassed. It made the blood smear across his lip.

Prussia moved without thinking, lunging forward to seal their lips together, nipping and sucking and drawing the wound into his mouth. A low groan came from in front of him and Prussia took it as his cue to continue, pushing his tongue into Switzerland's mouth and stroking roughly up and down with the hand on their cocks, not bothering with grace or finesse or any of that other frilly bullshit that isn't needed when you're both bleeding and naked on the ground and so hard you can't think straight.

The hand on his shoulder tightened, nails digging into his skin and pulling him forward as Prussia deepened the kiss. He reached out to tangle fingers in coarse blonde hair, closing his hand into a tight fist to force Switzerland's head back and keep it there. Switzerland growled and grabbed at his wrist, but Prussia retaliated with a hard thrust of his other hand and a swirl of his finger over and around the tip of Switzerland's cock.

It worked, and Switzerland went from struggling to gasping, thrusting his hips into Prussia's hand and letting his head fall back even more. The fingers digging into Prussia shoulder curled into claws and raked over his chest.

Leaning down, Prussia scraped teeth along Switzerland's neck, his other hand never slowing its assault as he stroked and twisted and sent them both racing towards the edge.

His concentration was slipping and Prussia felt himself reaching the limit of his control. It was all too much – his hand on his cock, the iron tang of blood in his mouth, skin and muscle against his teeth, and the pain breaking in waves across his back at the slightest movement– so when Switzerland added a hand to his own, calloused fingers running and sliding along both their lengths, it was more than he could take.

With a rough cry Prussia jerked and shuddered, a spasm wracking his body from head to toe, his own warmth flowing over his hand and against his skin. His mind swam and his eyes clenched shut, even as he strained through the haze of release to bring Switzerland along with him. He felt disconnected from the rest of his body but it must have worked, because not soon after he heard a short gasp and a long breath, and then silence.

The urge to lie down and flop onto his back was overwhelming but Prussia resisted, knowing he'd get a nasty surprise if he tried. He contented himself with slumping against Switzerland's chest, ignoring the muffled grunt he got at the action even as a pair of hands settled on his hips in return.

The only noise in the room was the two of them panting, until even that quieted down into little more than a slight whooshing of air.

Now that the frenzied moment had passed, their entwined position felt way too intimate. Feeling uncomfortable, Prussia disentangled himself and sat back on his heels, settling into a cross-legged position on the floor. He hadn't been able to get a good look at Switzerland earlier, but now the view was unobstructed and he let his eyes wander up and down, staring unabashedly. Switzerland didn't have his height, but he more than made up for it in muscle, no doubt the product of a hard life of constant readiness. It was a good look on him, Prussia decided.

Switzerland caught his eye and Prussia smirked, feeling awkward but determined not to show it.

They stayed that way, locked in an uncomfortable gaze, until Switzerland cleared his throat and glanced around the room. "So, where's your first aid kit?"

The question caught Prussia off-guard and he scrunched his nose in confusion, though a part of him was grateful to have something to talk about instead of the uneasy staring. "Huh?" he asked.

Switzerland crossed his arms over his chest. "I refuse to believe with you and Germany living in this house that you don't keep a first aid box somewhere."

Oh. The cuts on his back. The pain from them still lingered, shooting out at unexpected moments whenever he moved. If he hadn't just gotten off, he'd being getting hard again. But it needed to be taken care of, if for no other reason than to make sure he didn't get blood all over the furniture when he went back into the house. That shit was such a pain to clean.

He brushed the question aside, suddenly preferring the strained silence. "I'll take care of it later."

Switzerland gave him a disdainful look, the edges of his mouth turning down sharply. "Don't be stupid. You can't reach back there."

Prussia knew that, but refused to budge. "Whatever. I'll get West to do it."

"You shouldn't wait that long. Why are you being such a stubborn idiot?"

The question brought him up short and it came to Prussia that though he didn't mind Switzerland taking a knife to his back for sex—had enjoyed it, even— the thought of letting him that close once it was over made the space between his shoulders itch.

On second thought, the itch was real, a remnant of the blood no doubt trailing down and drying on his back. Shit, he really did need to get that cleaned up. Not to mention he would only look weak if he kept up the protesting when it was obvious he couldn't do it himself.

"Fine," he conceded, the words dragged from his throat. "Bathroom. Grey box under the sink." Switzerland looked at him, eyes narrowed, and Prussia continued before he could voice the question. "Any bathroom."

That was West's fault. His brother's defense against the uncertainty of which room an injury would occur in, and thus which bathroom would be closest, was solved by putting supplies in all of the bathrooms. Not that Prussia was complaining. The best contingency plans were the ones that were the most flexible.

Switzerland chuckled, apparently coming to the same conclusion on his own. Hitching his pants back up, he got to his feet and plucked an unused rag off the worktable. Cleaning himself off with a couple quick swipes, he tossed it over to Prussia to do the same. After finding and putting on his shirt, he disappeared inside the house.

Waiting on his ass for assistance sucked, so Prussia stood, redressed (not bothering with his shirt for obvious reasons), and began to tidy up the space he'd been using to clean his knives before Switzerland dropped by and the afternoon took a completely different turn. Not that he regretted it. He felt fucking great, still tingly and fuzzy and relaxed, and enjoying the pleasant feeling of pressure emanating from the cuts on his back.

His discarded knife was lying near West's car, and he carried it back to his workbench to check for damage and to finish cleaning later. Grabbing a couple more rags, he threw them over the space where he and Switzerland had just been. That would need a thorough mop up, which he'd also do later. What required immediate attention was Switzerland's knife.

Picking it up from the floor, he took the opportunity to examine it more closely. It was similar to his own, good steel and solid construction, though unlike his, there was a spring to make opening it a bit less work. It was also a centimeter or two larger, and without the black coating that Prussia liked both for its aesthetics and the extra protection it gave the blade. Smears of blood clung to the metal, standing out in stark contrast to the shiny silver.

Prussia was more than a little surprised that Switzerland had left the weapon behind, that he would let himself be unarmed outside his own home. Then again, it was just as likely he had another weapon or five tucked away in the jeans he was wearing, so Prussia didn't give it too much thought.

Sitting down on the high stool at his worktable, he picked up a fresh cloth, added a touch of oil, and began cleaning the blood –his blood—from the knife. The work was relaxing and he'd managed to get most of it off when he heard the door open.

Switzerland approached carrying a familiar box. The question of what took so damn long was answered when Prussia caught sight of a bandage peeking out from under the sleeve of his dark blue t-shirt, the same spot Prussia had cut earlier in their fight.

Well, he thought, if that bastard was going to be anal about this whole stupid first aid thing, at least he was consistent.

Giving the knife a few last strokes with the cloth, Prussia wiped the blade dry and snapped it shut, offering the weapon back to its owner. "Good as new." Then he frowned, rethinking that. "Well, as good as can be on short notice. You'll want to go over it again on your own."

Switzerland's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, brow crinkling as he stared in confusion before quickly collecting himself and accepting the knife, tucking it away in his front pocket. "That was nice," he said, one hand reaching up to scratch behind his neck. "Um, cleaning it, I mean. Thanks."

Prussia preened. "It's a good knife," he offered. "Shouldn't stay dirty."

The half-smile was back, and with a soft thud, Switzerland placed the box of aid supplies beside Prussia's elbow and motioned towards the wall next to the work table. "Turn around so I can take care of these."

The warm feelings fled as Prussia bristled at being told what to do, especially in his own house. "I know how this works," he snapped.

"Then start acting like it," Switzerland responded, matching his tone of voice exactly.

There wasn't much Prussia could say to that, so with a scowl, he did as directed.

Switzerland didn't give him any stupid warnings like,_ 'hold still'_ or _'this might hurt a bit,'_ which suited Prussia just fine. He merely opened the box, prepped the supplies, and began.

The first touch of the damp cloth against the skin of his shoulder burned and he bit back a hiss, staying still and silent as Switzerland cleaned each of the cuts one by one. The initial shock of pain gave way to repetition and it didn't come as a surprise to Prussia when he found himself enjoying it. Letting out a long sigh, he slumped forward slightly as the cloth continued to make its way down and across his back.

All too soon, the sting faded and the cloth was replaced by strong, steady hands taping strips of gauze over the worst of the injuries with painstaking precision. With a final tap to his arm, it was done and Prussia straightened up on the stool, turning to watch as Switzerland placed each of the items back in their proper places, then closed the box.

"There," Switzerland said, unnecessarily. "I'm done."

Which was strange. Switzerland wasn't prone to extra words or idle conversation and it made Prussia realize that he didn't want this –whatever it was—to end. Maybe the feeling was mutual, he considered, and fumbled for something to say, anything that might extend the encounter that was quickly coming to a close.

He hit upon the perfect thing.

"So why'd you stop by anyway?" Prussia kept his voice casual, setting both elbows on the work table and resting his chin atop them. "You said before you weren't here for West. That only leaves me…." His voice trailed off in an unasked question.

What he wasn't expecting was for Switzerland's cheeks to flush, his arm almost knocking over the first aid box as he jolted to attention. He cleared his throat and looked away, then looked back.

Prussia said nothing, keeping their gazes locked as the silence stretched on. He wanted an answer and had no qualms falling back on old interrogation tactics to get it.

It worked, and Switzerland broke with a hurried, "I, um…I was dropping off something." His hand reached out to methodically straighten the grey box until it was exactly parallel to the edge of the table.

"Dropping off something." Prussia echoed. "But not for West." He paused, curious and slightly hopeful. "For me?" Shifting up in his seat, he lifted his head from his hands and stared intently.

It made no sense. What the hell could Switzerland have for _him_? Sure, Prussia sometimes helped out in the office when the workload was high, but that was a private arrangement with his brother. Nowadays he was mostly content to stay behind the scenes and let West take point.

Switzerland flushed brighter, even as his expression hardened. He mumbled something incoherent, a string of rushed syllables that Prussia couldn't begin to make out.

"I didn't catch one word of that. Speak up," Prussia demanded, irritated.

"I brought you a plant from my garden." The words were mumbled, but unmistakable.

Prussia beamed, annoyance forgotten. "You brought me flowers!"

"_A_ flower!" Switzerland snapped. "Just one. Something new I'm cultivating. You liked my garden before, so I thought…" He drifted into silence and stared at the floor.

"Well, don't just stand there, show me!" Prussia burst out excitedly, causing Switzerland's head to snap back up.

Straightening, Switzerland pursed his lips together and answered, a tight, tense sounding "Fine, then."

It brought to mind a soldier set unerringly on a difficult course of action, and Prussia grinned at the thought. What seemed like forever ago, he'd seen Switzerland dressed for battle, and remembered the sight as being impressive. Well, except for those years with the ridiculous clothes, but whatever.

"I left it in the hallway. Come on." The words broke Prussia out of his old memories. Turning, Switzerland stopped to look back at him. "Can you walk?" he asked.

"What the fuck kind of question is that?" Prussia demanded. He'd dragged his beat up ass off so many battlefields over the centuries that he'd practically turned it into an art form. A couple shallow cuts weren't going to keep him down. "It's not like you broke my knees or anything. That might've been a problem." He jumped off the stool onto his feet, steadfastly ignoring the jolt upon landing that he most definitely didn't wince at, silently daring Switzerland to say anything.

He didn't, and Prussia's estimation of him went up another notch.

They re-entered the house and there was indeed a small ceramic-looking pot sitting in the corner by the front door, a single flower growing in the center. The bright splash of color contrasted sharply with the drab beige of the walls and immediately drew his eye. A simple black coat that Prussia didn't recognize was hanging from one of the pegs on the adjacent wall.

Switzerland shrugged into the coat, then stooped to pick up the pot with both hands. Turning around, he handed it to Prussia. "Here. For you." Seemingly as an afterthought, he added, "And you better take good care of it."

Prussia took the potted flower. It was bright and purple and pretty and it made him childishly happy to get an unexpected present. He didn't know why Switzerland was giving it to him, considering how fiercely he guarded everything within his borders. The whole situation left him not really sure what to say and not wanting to say the wrong thing to the normally prickly nation.

Fuck it, he decided, he would say what he wanted; he'd never changed himself to win anyone's favor, and he wasn't about to start now. "So," he asked, a playful grin pulling at the edges of his mouth, "the next time I come visit, you going to let me inside the house?"

Switzerland ran an aggravated hand through his hair. "You're nothing but trouble!"

"That's not an answer," Prussia replied, teasing.

A small but genuine smile broke through. "Try it and find out," he challenged.

Prussia laughed, intending on doing just that.


End file.
